The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(21)

Also, they both liked one-upping each other in seeing who would’ve gotten a higher score.

Grandpa passed away when Zoe was a baby, the result of all those years of indulging in his favorite bakery treats.

When I moved the kids here to live with Grandma after Daniel left, we thought it would be a short-term solution. But I got invested in the bookstore again when I didn’t have my hands full with the kids, and about the time I felt like I had my footing under me, Grandma’s stroke took her from us too.

Rather than moving the kids when Zoe and Piper were both happy at school, I redecorated a little by bringing our old sectional sofa out of storage. Portia, Griff, and I nearly couldn’t get it up the stairs. The only reason it fits is that our television hangs on the wall instead of needing a stand. And the girls are currently racing across the cushions, chasing Skippy, who’s leaping from the curtain rods to the very skinny top of the television to the bookshelves to the couch, and looping back again.

“Skippy doesn’t want to go in his cage, Mom,” Zoe says.

Yes, his cage.

The vet said since he’d been inside already, he’d need special assistance adjusting to the wild, and if we wanted to nurse him until he’s old enough, we’d need to cage him when we weren’t home.

I’m pretty sure the squirrel has brain damage, no matter what the vet said. But I swear he’s also learning the phrases peanut butter and bird seed and don’t make me call animal control, you mangy little thief.

Which I only say when my kids aren’t around. Promise.

And only when I find Grandma’s jewelry in his cage.

Piper ducks under her sister’s arm, narrowly missing getting clotheslined. “He likes the bookshelf.”

“He’s going to pee on the books on the bookshelf.”

Both of my daughters spin and gape at me. They couldn’t be more different—Zoe has Daniel’s dark brown eyes and dark-colored hair, but my hairline and round face, where Piper got my lighter, wavy locks and lighter eyes, and Dan’s button nose and stubborn chin. They’re in matching nightgowns from last Christmas that they’re both growing out of, and when they’re gaping at me, horrified, there’s no denying they’re sisters.

I make the sign for it’s bedtime, knock it off—it’s practically habit—then hand them each a butterfly net. “Catch the squirrel and put him in his cage, or he’s going to the animal sanctuary right now.”

“You can’t take him to the sanctuary if you can’t catch him,” Piper points out.

I give her a mom look, and they both leap into action. I grab my own net and join them, and ten minutes later, Hudson’s sitting on the floor in the hallway in his own nightgown, watching as Skippy gets tired of the game and darts into the cage on his own.

I should’ve let Dr. Murphy find him a new home, but the look in Zoe’s eyes—there are some battles I can fight, and some I can’t. Or possibly won’t. Maybe both.

My kids are strong. They survived their father leaving. They survived moving from the suburbs to Grandma Penny’s apartment, and they survived losing her. I don’t like disappointing them, but I can’t protect them from everything, so instead, I try to teach them to cope and heal.

Zoe would’ve survived if I’d let Skippy go.

But I couldn’t do it.

So, yes, it’s all mom guilt at what they’re missing that’s led me to allow them to continue letting a squirrel live in the house.

“Mom, Hudson got out of bed.”

“Piper, is he actively hurting you by sitting there?”

“He’s breaking the rules.”

Here we go. “All three of you. Bed. Now.”

Forty-five minutes later, there’s relative peace in my house, and I let my shoulders relax for the first time since chatting with Levi’s mom.

Levi Wilson’s mother.

I hung out with Levi Wilson and his mother.

There’s nothing like chatting with a guy’s mother to make him seem less like a pop god and more like a regular man.

Who wants to take me out to dinner.

That’s insane.

Usually, once my kids are in bed, I head straight into a book—there are so many good options—but tonight, I need something else.

I grab my phone and dial Portia before I can stop myself. “Help,” I say when she answers. “I need courage.”

“Honey-boo, you survived Hudson being three. You’re gonna survive him being four.”

“Levi Wilson invited me to dinner after he showed me his abs.”

“Hold on.” Her voice goes distant. “Griff, you got the boys. Ingrid needs me to talk her into taking a booty call.”

“It’s not a booty call! He said he needs more friends to keep him humble.”

She cackles. “He showed you his abs. He wants a booty call.”

“He was technically showing me a scar.”

“The man doesn’t have a scar on his arm or his face? He had to show you the scar on his abs? Booty. Call.”

“He said the friend word.”

“Are you fighting talking to the man because he’s famous, because you’re afraid your kids will scare him away, or because you’re not ready to get back into the world of dating?”

“Yes?”